


Let's Talk

by fullfeature



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: (kinda), Bill being GOOD, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, sub Eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullfeature/pseuds/fullfeature
Summary: He tries to think of a better wording. Of something less strange sounding. He can’t. “You wanna platonically dom my boyfriend?”It, uh, doesn't work out that way.





	Let's Talk

**AUGUST**  
  


Eddie smiles, hands clasped behind his back. His teeth are caught on his bottom lip and Richie would usually pull it away, maybe pull it between his own, but. But. His hands are occupied. In them is a plain white envelope, unassuming. His father hadn’t even noticed it was addressed to him at first, piling it on the table with the rest of their bills. His mother had been the one to see  _ Richard Tozier  _ on the envelope, and then her eyes traveled to the  _ University Southern California  _ senders address. She’d caught the back of his collar as he and Eddie had piled into the house, smiling as she gave him the mail. In his room now Richie finds his own hands shaking, and Eddie’s smaller ones come out to steady them.   
  


“Come on, ‘Chee. Open it.” Richie licks his lips, nervous. Eddie meets his eyes and smiles. “Want me to do it?”   
  


Richie sighs in relief, “God. Yes, please.” He hands over the letter, sitting down on his bed. He watches Eddie open it, drinking in the freckles on his cheeks and the tan line exposed by his open collared polo. He closes his eyes and lays back, letting Eddie read the letter in full. He’d been waitlisted for USC, and sure, it’d been a bit crushing, but then Mike and Eddie and Bill had all been accepted to W&M, and he thought he’d go somewhere near them, maybe even late apply there. Bev, Ben and Stan were going around there too. They had been accepted into VCU, Bev for fashion design and Ben for architecture, Stan for film.. But…   
  


But, if this is what he thinks it is, then… It’s California. It’s Hollywood. It’s his Radio Ticket. He hears a muffled squeal and then: there is warm weight across his hips, a series of dry gentle kisses along his face and jaw. “‘Chee…” He smiles into Richie’s neck, quick pecks interrupted by his words. “Read it, ‘Chee,” Eddie says, sitting back up and placing the document on Richie’s chest.   
  


Richie sits up, paper crumpling as he melds his hands to Eddie’s hips. Their mouths meet, and Richie kisses Eddie through his protests. It’s an acceptance letter, it must be if Eddie isn’t crying or petting his hair. God, there is warm feeling bubbling up in him, like the California sun.   
  


“Mmm,” Richie licks into Eddie’s mouth, tasting smarties and his honey lip balm. His hands snake down to grab a handful of the other’s ass, smirking when Eddie wiggles away. “Come on baby,” he tries, “Aren’t we celebrating?” Richie makes his voice low and gravelly like he knows Eddie likes, dragging his long fingers down Eddie’s throat and putting just a bit of pressure on Eddie’s windpipe. “We can bust out the candles… make it an occasion.”   
  


Eddie’s face flushes, breath stuttering as one of Richie’s hands circle his throat. He licks his bottom lip, grabbing his boyfriend’s wrist and pulling one of Richie’s fingers into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, licking Richie’s first knuckle before swallowing and letting his lips meet the second. Their eyes meet, Eddie’s gaze hot and intent from the gaps in his lashes. Richie’s eyes blow out just like he knew they would, and Eddie bites down, not too hard, but enough to have Richie scrambling away in surprise.   
  


“Fuck! Jesus Eds, just say no!” Richie is still red, and Eddie laughs against him, picking up the letter and waving it around. Richie doesn’t even notice, still bitching. “Try to give your boyfriend some action and he turns into a--”   
  


“‘Cheeee,” Eddie whines, “Take the damn letter, read it and go tell your parents!” Eddie pushes a little on Richie’s chest before he scoots out of his lap, intent on reading like he’d planned. He can hear Richie’s breathless laughter as he reads the letter, and pride swells in his chest, pink and yellow and vast.    
  


Richie smacks a kiss on his cheek, laughing still as he descends the stairs. “Ma! I got in! Don’t tell Dad, we’re gonna pretend I didn’t…” His voice trails off and Eddie chuckles a little to himself, opening his dog-eared novel. August. They’d be off to college by the end of this month. The bright pride that had filled him mellows into mourning, murky purple blue.    
  


Just a little under a month left together, then. Maybe he would let Richie bust out the candles tonight. Maybe. 

 

**SEPTEMBER**

 

Eddie plops into his seat, the unassigned but  _ still-his _ seat, second row to the left. He rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand and hopes that the professor has something more engaging than just a lecture planned.  He can hear Richie in the back of his head,  _ Eds baby, we can talk later, you need to sleep,  _ but that had been an hour before they actually hung up. Eddie had dozed off on the phone at least twice before he finally let Richie say goodnight. Not like that fucker had any reason to complain, his class didn’t start till noon.   
  


Here Eddie was, though, at nine in the morning, running late from sleeping in, with no coffee. He wishes that Richie was right, that they would talk later, but honestly that just isn’t the case. Eddie is busy, being pre-med and an active part of the Bridges club. Richie is just as busy, if not busier, being a grunt for the radio station. It’s well into September and Eddie can count the number of times they’ve talked, really talked, on one hand. Sure they have a snapstreak and they text sometimes, but Eddie misses Richie’s voice, his hands, his stupid fucking jokes. The other losers haven’t said anything, but he knows they can see the way he’s too wired and worked up.   
  


Last night Richie had found time while organizing records, and Eddie put his homework aside. It had been such a relief to hear Richie’s voice, hear him talk about the radio and his classes. Eddie could listen to him talk forever, honestly. Not that he’d ever say that. He isn’t sure how he’s gonna handle it, the distance. He’s already so wound up, agitated, on edge...  
  


His phone buzzes. 

     Trashmouth: Hey baby! Hope i didnt keep u up too late! I love u! :)   
  


Eddie smiles, his cheeks pink and heart full, resting his head on the desk while he responds. Sure, it was hard, but it wasn’t unbearable. Richie was still attentive, and they weren’t drifting apart like he was scared they might. He turns his attention back to the front, feeling more awake with his joy.   
  


After class he meets Bill and Mike for brunch, settling down with a quiet smile. Mike has his nose in a book Eddie recognizes from their last group study session, some writers workshop novel Mike has to power through, but Bill tilts his head before giving him a knowing grin.   
  


“I shuh-should’ve known you were talking to Ri-richie last night,” there’s the slightest tease in his tone, but his eyes are warm. They live a room away from one another, and the walls are thin. Bill probably heard Eddie’s voice, too indistinct to make out any words.   
  


The only time Eddie hears Bill is through the wall… Well. It’s not when he’s on the phone, thats for sure.  He doesn’t say anything, though. Eddie lays on Bill’s bed sometimes, quiet, when he feels restless, like he needs out of his own skin. He isn’t sure Bill gets it, not really, but he never sends Eddie away. It’s nice and comforting, so Bill can keep his loud hookups. Eddie sometimes gets a little jealous, thinking of Richie’s hands, and his stubbly chin, how far away he is.   
  


“‘S thinking they might let him do a midnight show soon,” Eddie says through a bite of muffin. “‘Chee wants to do some sort of interview show, kinda like a hot seat.” Actually Richie had to have said about fifteen ideas for his time slot, tripping over his words in his excitement and bouncing from one idea to the next. The talk show one was the idea Eddie had liked the most. Not that he would like. Tune in to hear Richie’s voice, or anything.   
  


Bill nods, “Surprised Rich isn’t fuh-fighting fuh-for a better time.” He takes a bite of food before he meets eyes with someone across the canteen, giving them a smile and a wave.   
  


Eddie turns back as subtle as possible, meaning not at all, and sees a brunette boy with a deep dimple and pink flush. A sting of jealousy runs through Eddie, sharp and jarring. He’s always been a bit of a brat, and he knows it, but Bill makes friends everywhere. Bill could probably make friends with a rock. It probably helps that he’s tall and lean and has the jaw of a model with serious, calm blue eyes that put anyone at ease. Sometimes Eddie gives Bill shit for it, but Bill refuses to kiss and tell.   
  


Eddie kicks his leg under the table, hard. On accident. “Oh! Sorry Bill! Thought you were the table leg,” Eddie smiles.   
  


Bill nods, posture stiff in a wince. Eddie smiles harder.   
  


Mike looks up eyes darting around the table in curiosity before his focus narrows on Eddie, “Hey Eddie! Are there any more muffins left?” 

 

**OCTOBER**

 

Sometimes Richie regrets ever deciding to go to college. He heaves a sigh, trying to make the words of his textbook unblur, trying to focus on  _ the Cold War was a tumultuous time in international relations even for countries outside the spheres of influence of the warring states…  _ God. He closes his eyes. It’s only ten, and his eight am hadn’t even been particularly grueling today, just new equations, but Richie still feels the dull throb of a headache at his temples. He looks around the lounge, fairly empty, and sighs again. He doesn’t have another class until three, an art studio that he usually lives in, but recently… Richie thumps his head against his textbook. He wants god to smite him. Or someone to close his head in the book repeatedly. Either will do.    
  


It’s been a long week, is the thing. Even though it’s Friday Richie can feel the exhaustion in his bones. Richie had shows on Tuesday and Thursday, midnight interviews with people he knows fairly well, and they’d been fun, but they’d been exhausting. The show is new, just a few weeks old, and it’s been a struggle trying to get such late night listeners. Making graphics, plugging online announcements, bargaining teachers to mention it… Richie sighs again.  He tries to think of the amount of sleep he’ll get tonight, hours and hours of blissful rest, but it only makes him long for bed more. He closes the book, weighing his options. Stay here and try to study… Go back to his dorm for a nap…   
  


Before he can make a choice his phone vibrates,  **EDDY BABY** flashing on the screen. Richie smiles, answering quickly. “Hey there hotstuff.”   
  


“Ruh-ruh-Richie,” the voice across the line says. Calm and steady, serious as a heart attack. “I don’t Nuh-know what time it is th-there but...you guh-got a second?”   
  


“Big Bill? Yeah, always. Any reason you’ve got Eddie’s phone and not yours? Drop it in the toilet? Feed it to a bear? Run over it with--”   
  


“Eh-Eddie isn’t doing so hot, Rich.” Bill says this matter-a-factly, voice still that even calm. Richie sits up a little straighter, more alert. He tries to interrupt, ask what the fuck Bill is talking about, but the boy steamrolls on. “I can hear him, puh-pacing around his room, tuh-talking in his sleep sometimes... I juh-just had to tuh-talk him d-down from a fuh-fuh-fucking panic attack!” Bill’s voice is loud by the end of his speech, false calm crumbling down.   
  


Richie asks for Eddie, but Bill explains that he’s sleeping, and Richie can almost see what the boy must be looking at. Eddie, small and soft curled into his sheets, dried tear tracks on his cheeks, face red and blotchy. Panic attacks were few and far between in high school, once Eddie had settled into himself and gained some confidence, but he still heard hs mother sometimes in the back of his head--telling him what a fragile little boy he was. Richie aches, deep in his chest. He hadn’t known Eddie had been having nightmares.   
  


It takes Richie a second to even remember the last time they talked on the phone. Before his show had gotten the greenlight… so… Weeks ago. Had it really been that long? Richie grits his teeth, angry at himself. He knows that Eddie won’t ask anyone for help, won’t ask one of the losers to sleep by his side or reassure him.   
  


Bill is silent on the line while he thinks, but comes through softly this time. “He nuh-nuh-needs you to muh-make an effort Richie. I nuh-know you’re busy, but he c-c-can’t--” Bill goes quiet again, likely struggling to find his words. Richie wonders when he got to be such a shitty boyfriend that Bill had to step in.   
  


But. He pauses for a second. “Hey… Bill… would you…” He tries to think of a better wording. Of something less strange sounding. He can’t. “You wanna platonically dom my boyfriend?”   
  


There is a short stretch of silence before Bill begins to stutter so hard Richie thinks he might be having a heart attack and well. That’s how it starts. 

 

 **DECEMBER**  
  


Eddie looks at Bill out of the corner of his eye, watching him sketch something for his figure drawing class. Bill’s hands are steady, practiced. Strong knuckled. A little meaty, but not too much. Eddie bites his lip, absentmindedly shifting against the sheets. It draws Bill’s attention, blue eyes skating over his form. Eddie tries to imagine what he looks like: hands cuffed in front of him with blue fuzzy handcuffs, lying on his side with a body pillow between his legs and light blue collar on his neck. Hopefully, he looks like he feels. Soft and complacent and completely at ease. Well. Hopefully Bill can’t see that he’s turned on. That’s always a bit awkward.      
  


“Doing alright, Sw-sweetheart?” Bill’s eyes are curious, but face otherwise completely devoid of emotion. It makes Eddie’s insides squirm, having that clear assessing gaze on his skin. He want to say something, but his rule for today is no talking. He nods instead, biting his bottom lip against a bit of a whine. He wants… He wants to get off. Richie talked him through an orgasm earlier in the week, but it’s Saturday and… and he’s been like this for while. Pelvis pressed into the pillow, cheek smushed into Bill’s soft sheets. They smell like him. Earthy and a bit like rain.  He isn’t sure how long he’s been down, floating in and out of it for a few hours most likely, but. But he wants.   
  


Bill looks at him for another long moment. Takes in the flush to his cheeks, the pink across his visible thigh. He thinks of the conversation he and Richie had, early in the morning as Richie explained what he thought Eddie needed this week. Bill will admit that there’s something kinda amazing about it, Richie knowing just what Eddie wants and needs, without the other boy really even having to say anything. Something that comes with time, he supposes. Richie had said that he would want to get out of himself. Away from it all. It’s only the third time they’ve done this, and only the second time he’d watched Eddie’s eyes glaze over, mouth part and response time slow.   
  


Fuck. It’s… scary. Hell, the first time he’d had Richie on the phone the entire way through, and it’d still been nerve wracking. Also, when he’d tied Eddie’s thighs together, listening to Richie’s careful instruction on knots and gentleness Eddie had absolutely been sporting a boner. Which. Came with the territory. Totally. But. Was still a little jarring. It’s jarring this time too, because.   
  


Well. Because Eddie looks good, wrapped in his sheets, hazy expression and fluttering lashes. Not that Bill had never thought he looked good before, but. He wasn’t exactly allowed too. Sure, he checked out Eddie’s ass in his shorts and went for small brunettes, but that’s as far as he let himself go with it. Now though, he’s allowed to look all he wants. Allowed to touch, conditionally. It’s a far cry from what Bill had ever expected. With the tying and the handcuffs and the collar.   
  


The collar is… New. Nice. Fits around Eddie’s throat just like Richie said it would, snug enough to feel but loose enough to hook two fingers through if Bill wanted. But he wouldn’t. Obviously. Unless explicitly given permission by both Eddie and Richie beforehand. So he stands, doing what he knows he’s allowed to do. Trails his fingers across the bed sheets, hearing Richie’s voice in his head talk about creating anticipation. Bill watches Eddie struggle to keep quiet. Eddie’s thigh muscles jump as he skims his hand across Eddie’s knee, just the brush of his fingers to assure Eddie he’s here. All the directions jumble together in the moment, is the issue. Richie had given him links and pictures and even long winded explanations about why and how and when but.  When he meets Eddie’s eyes and sees the trust there it leaves him breathless.   
  


Struggling against saying anything about his problem Eddie’s headspace begins to turn from the floating sensation to hyperaware. It feels good. So good. God, he could probably cum from this. Bill’s gaze and the pillow and the restriction. And Bill’s hand, fingers circling his kneecap, smooth motions. Eddie can feel the heat originating at the point their skin meets slide up the inside of his thigh. His body expects the actual hands to follow, make a warpath all the way to his cock.   
  


His skin prickles with the thought, goosebumps sprouting and body shifting against the sheets again. He knows better than to make a sound, though. Richie hadn’t been shy about telling him he’d be punished if he didn’t listen to Bill. It’s hard. He wants to beg, for Bill to tell him no and make him work for it. 

Instead Bill unlocks the cuffs. “Y-you looked a luh-little restless. It’s oh-okay, Eds. You can tuh-talk now.” He returns to his desk, letting Eddie get up at his own pace.   
  


Eddie holds back a sigh, sitting up and watching Bill across the room. It’s not… it’s not how the scene is supposed to end, really. It feels wrong though, to hold Bill to something that he never asked for. Well…not yet anyway. “Aren’t you gonna take this off?” Eddie asks, tilting his head back and exposing the column of his throat. The baby blue collar is soft, and he knows what it looks like. Richie isn’t shy about telling him how beautiful or sexy he looks collared.   
  


Bill doesn’t say anything, but Eddie can hear his footsteps, so it’s only a bit of a surprise when his fingers brush Eddie’s adam’s apple. They loop around nicely, neatly, no lingering touches, no subtle presses into the vulnerable veins bared. The collar comes off as smooth as it went on. Eddie’s quick though, catches Bill’s hands before he can think about it too much, giving the pointer and middle finger of each hand a dry kiss. “Thank you, Sir.” He says, looking up through his lashes. Bill did agree after all, and he knew Eddie was brat beforehand. Some teasing was to be expected, right?   
  


Bill only lasts thirty minutes after Eddie leaves before he has his hand down his pants. Fuck. He can’t stop thinking about the collar on Eddie’s throat and the trust in his eyes. Can’t stop hearing Richie’s voice from the first night:  _ He’s real pliant, Big Bill, the only time he’ll do what you want without any lip.  _ The first night, Eddie thighs wrapped together like a present, skin soft and muscles taunt.  _ He’ll be sensitive… We usually have sex during or after,  _ Richie had said,  _ So it’s normal if he gets hard or moans. Don’t flip.  _ Right. Don’t flip. Bill hadn’t, nope. Instead he’d been stunned speechless, overwhelmed by how good it felt to make sure Eddie was safe and happy.   
  


Richie’s voice continues in his mind as he sees Eddie’s lips part around his fingers, Bill’s hand tight around his cock.  _ He’s a mouthy little thing, so I muffle him pretty often. You can use your fingers, or a cloth.  _ It’s wrong. Bill knows it’s wrong but remembering the warm sensation of Eddie’s tongue across the pads of his fingers has him wringing the crown of his dick, thinking about Eddie’s pink mouth taking him to the hilt, lips at the base as he swallows against his gags.   
  


Makes him wonder if Richie gagged him that way too, telling Eddie what a good boy he was, that he was made for it. That morphs into Richie whispering in his ear, how good he is with Eddie, how good they look together. Bill can almost feel it: Richie’s broad hands on his back as he guides Bill through the motions of fucking Eddie’s mouth.   
  


His hips thrust up as he comes, messy across his hand and chest. He gasps out a curse, clean forearm resting against his sweaty forehead. Bill strokes himself a few more times, riding out the last few waves of his orgasm before he settles. Fuck. He cleans himself off quickly, trying not to think about what he just did. Except. Fuck. He can’t not think about it. Jerking off to a friend is strange enough, but like. Acceptable, maybe. Jerking off to two of your friends who you’re helping navigate a complicated relationship? Feels wrong. Bill puts on sweatpants, curling up under his blanket.    
  


It especially feels wrong when he recalls the first part of the phone call from before:  _ Big Bill, you’re the ringleader, and we all trust you. I trust you with my life. I know you’re gonna treat ‘em right.  _ Bill rolls over, eyes clenched shut, stewing in guilt. He can’t do this can he?   
  


It’s eight pm in California when Bill works up the nerve to call. The phone rings… and rings… and rings… and  _ jesus _ , Bill thinks,  _ this is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had _ . It’s then Richie picks up the phone.   
  


“Bill? Hey! I was… kinda worried. I thought we agreed to call right after the scene was done? Eddie didn’t call me either, is he okay?” Richie must be studying, because Bill can hear a soft piano ballad playing the in background.   
  


Bill winces when he thinks about how long it’s been since Eddie went back to his room. “Suh-suh-sorry,” he starts. “I’ve juh-juh-just, buh-buh-been thuh-thuh--” Bill stops, heart hammering in his chest wishing that he could just spit it the fuck out already, but   
  


“Did something happen? Bill? Is everything okay?” The piano music cuts. Bill can hear Richie rustling papers, the edge to his voice on the side of frantic. “Bill? Is Eddie ok?”   
  


Bill takes a big deep breath. “Eh-eddie is fine. He went b-back to his room before suh-six.” Richie sighs, relieved, and Bill can hear the thump where he slumps against something. He steamrolls on. “I duh-duh-don’t. I don’t think I can do this, anymore.”    
  


There is a long pause. Richie’s tone, when he does speak, is careful. “Did. Did something happen?” They lapse into another silence, where Bill wonders if he can get the words out, like always, if he’ll fuck them up so much they’ll mush into nonsense.   
  


“I-I-” Bill puts his head in his hands. “I-I-I-I’ll tuh-tuh-text y-you.” He hangs up immediately, without waiting for a response.   
  


   Rich: Bill what the fuck? Is this why Eddie didn’t call? 

 

   To Rich: im sorry. I can’t do this. I love you both but I can’t… separate this.   
  


His phone rings a second later, Richie’s voice coming through the line. “Bill, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. Separate this from what?”   
  


It takes Bill a second, but he starts to pace as he talks. “I… fuh-fuck Richie. I guh-got off. After Eh-Eddie left.” Richie starts to interrupt, but Bill doesn’t give him the chance. “To h-him. To you. I c-can’t separate this like you wuh-want.” He holds his face in his hands, embarrassed and guilty all at once.   
  


“Shit, Bill. This is the issue? You think I’m mad because you got off to Eddie? I… I’ve jerked it to Mike before! He’s got pecs of steel!”   
  


That startles a laugh out of Bill despite the misunderstanding. “You’re not muh-mad? That I think ah-about you both...li-kuh-ke that?”   
  


Richie laughs too, relieved sounding. “Fuck Bill, I thought you were gonna say you thought we were disgusting! The fact you got off to it? Eddie’s gonna love this, little primadonna.” Bill can hear the smirk in his voice.   
  


“Yuh-yuh-you’re going to tuh-tell Eddie?” Bill’s guilt is gone, since apparently it’s… no big deal. But his anxiety skyrockets at the thought of Eddie knowing.   
  


“Shit, Bill, what the fuck did you jerk it too?” Richie sounds delighted, like Bill’s given him some sort of candy or present. “It has to be bad if you’re this worked up!” Bill can hear the rustle of sheets as Richie, presumably, lays down in bed. “C’mon, tell me what about Eddie-baby got your rocks off.”   
  


“Auh-are you guh-getting off on thuh-this?” Bill doesn’t know why he expected anything different, actually. Trashmouth through and through. “Is it luh-like okuh-kay?”   
  


Richie laughs again, “You think I don’t talk to Eddie about the same thing?” Bill’s jaw drops. He sits down on his bed, a wave of arousal coursing through him. “Mmm, I got him off on Monday talking about what your fingers would feel like inside him next to mine.” Bill starts to say something, what exactly he isn’t quite sure, but Richie continues. His voice is rough, husky, and it stirs Bills gut. “I told him we’d put his hands behind his back, put him between us, in my lap so I could hold him as you fucked him open, then he’d keep your cock warm in his mouth as I got my turn, and maybe if he was good we’d let him cum.”   
  


Speechless, Bill palms his dick. “Ar-are you… You’d luh-let me…”   
  


“We were gonna ask you over winter break.” Richie reveals. “If you’d wanna do this forreal.” Richie groans loud into the receiver, “Eds is gonna be pissed I didn’t wait to tell you.”   
  


Bill lays back, one hand on his dick, the other holding the phone. “Huh-holy Shit.” He wishes he had something better to say, but it’s all his brain provides.  “So wuh-winter break?”   
  


Richie cracks up, laugh loud and warm across the line. “You mean you’re not gonna put Eds on his knees tomorrow? He won’t mind, trust me.”   
  


Bill laughs too, but softer. “I thuh-think we should wuh-wait. To take it fuh-further. Winter break.”   
  


“Ok Big Bill,” Richie says, voice soft and sweet in a way that Bill has only heard directed at Eddie. “Winter Break. We’ll double team Ed’s a Christmas surprise.”   
  


“Fuh-Fuck off, Trashmouth.” Bill presses the palms of his hands into his cheeks, feeling the heat of his blush. 

**Author's Note:**

> there's smut to this but... idk if i wanna post it so for now it ends here
> 
> also if u celebrate then MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!


End file.
